These Hills Are Wicked Hahd

"Once it's over, you own it forever" - Paul Carrozza

Well, here I am back in Beantown for another overdue visit with my grandson, Adam, and my family. Funny how it coincided with the Boston Marathon this time. Life weaves a strange tapestry sometimes. I won't see the starting line this Monday, or the finish line for that matter, but I plan to hug the sidelines at 23 and give my best "suck it up", "just 3 more miles", or steal Ken's line "nuts and guts, baby, nuts and guts". I PROMISE not to say "lookin' good". I am really looking forward to seeing this race from the "other side".

What is it with this Boston thing? Like a rock rolling downhill, marathon running has gotten crazy popular. Everyone and their grandmother seem to be doing it. Used to be just the hardcore runner would even entertain the thought of tackling what was thought of to be the top of the running mountain, and now it has almost become common place to see marathons pop up for this charity or that cause and BOOM! - 10,000 runners line up. A half million finishers a year! And that's great because so many folks are finding out about that person locked up inside them and not only getting off the "Couch of Doom" but throwing it in the trash pile.

But if marathon running is the mountain, then Boston is Everest. I've done Boston 5 times and can honestly say there is something very different about being there. Something that gets in your gut and won't let go. Standing at the starting line of Boston is the culmination of a dream for most marathoners, because not only have you survived having run a previous marathon, but you have had to run it well, often an over-your-head effort to just qualify to run. Very few make the Boston qualifying time (a BQ) on their first attempt. It is based on age and for most, it is just out of range. Back in the 90's, when I had completed probably close to 40-50 marathons, I still didn't think I had much desire to go to Boston, but everyone kept asking "Ever been to Boston?" and the answer was no. It was like I was cast to the minor leagues. I wasn't validated as a "real" marathoner. Then one day, running the old Vulcan Marathon in Birmingham in 1993, I surprisingly got under the cursed qualifying time and screamed "I'm going to Boston!".

For many, Boston has become a quest, beginning as a dream, then a goal, then, finally, a reality. Anytime you set limits, you will exclude some folks and that might seem elitist, but I don't think so (of course I realize I'm talking from the "been there" side of the fence). The limits are based on performance, and are set at a point where most, given time and disciline (ah, that doggone training) can reach them. After I ran Boston the first time, I said I would never go back because the experience was so over and above anything I expected, I felt it would never top that. But, you ask any first timer, or 20th timer, and they will tell you that from the expo, where everyone is wearing a shirt from a different marathon, to Copley Square, where you recieve that most coveted medal, Boston lives up to it's billing. And once you run it, you are infected with the Boston Bug and for most, there is no cure.

The crowd noise is incredible as you go through the 7 different towns from Hopkinton to Boston, getting louder and louder with each town, but it is the last half of the race that defines this marathon above others for me. At about mile 12, just a quarter mile west of Wellsley College, you begin to hear this high pitched squeal that is getting louder as you run. You are entering what is known as the "Scream Tunnel". The girls of Wellsley is all it's cranked up to be. A deafening wall of sound. Imagine about 200 yards of young, excited girls stacked 4-5 deep along the road, screaming their heads off and clanging cowbells. Now, throw is signs of "Kiss me", "Kiss me, I'm a senior", "Kiss me, I'm Mormon", "Just kiss me". And if a women goes by...the noise ratchets up a few hundred decibels...and if a girl wearing a Wellsley shirt comes-a-runnin', Holy crow!! - hold your ears. When you leave the Scream Tunnel, you are whipped from the excitement. Unfortunatly, you're only halfway to Boston. When you make the turn at the Newton Fire station to begin the famous humps known as Heartbreak Hill, the bombardment of noise for the last 10 miles is constant. Going up Heartbreak, if you're struggling, someone will jump from the crowd and run along side of you yelling "You can do it! You're almost to the top. Suck it up". Now, from my standpoint, Heartbreak is WAY over-rated. It's actually a series of 4 hump-flat, hump-flat, hump-flat, big hump. It's just that at the end of 16 miles of mostly downhill and flat running, the startch in the legs are a little stale and Heartbreak is wringing out of them whatever is left. Rolling into Boston was a loud, loud moment in the race. And what had been a strong turnout up to that point was ratcheted up another notch. Seriously. People and people and people for the entire rest of the race. I remember, the first year I ran, there was a large Billboard near Fenway Park, about a mile from the finish, that read "Welcome to Boston. You earned it!". I love that.

By writing, I could never do justice to the last half mile, but I'll give it a go. Remember, there has been pretty much a continuous deafening cheering for the past 10 miles or so. Then, there is a 50 yard tunnel under Massachucetts Avenue in which no spectators are allowed - the screaming has become silent except for the runner's feet slapping the pavement - it is sureal to say the least. Then, my favorite moment. You exit the tunnel to an incredibly huge wave of spectators and a flood on noise as you make a right turn onto Hereford Street. Two blocks of struggling uphill, and then the most glorious left onto Boylston Street. In plain view, 600 yards ahead, you can see the finish line. In my life, I have never been bombarded by sound the way I was for those last several minutes along Boylston. The crowd is 5-10 deep, screaming their heads off, the sound reverberating off the buildings, and I am almost crying because I'm about to finish The Boston Marathon! God, it's great to be a runner!!

No, I won't be running this year, but I can always close my eyes and not only see the past, but feel it too. Good luck to all the runners and I'll see them, and ofcourse, I'll see you, on the roads - AL

"One child lost is too many...one child saved can change the world"

Get Your Head Up!

"I do not seek. I find." - Pablo Picasso

"Get your head up!" - I can still hear Ken yelling at me. It was Huntsville, 2005, and I was desperately trying to run a 3:45 to qualify for Boston. As per usual, I was running my standard of marathon miles progression - good for the first 16-17 miles, feel a tug at my innards from miles 17-22, and begin a tailspin for the last 4 miles. This was nothing new - it is my usual modus operandi for most of my races. So, here I am, at the end of the 26th mile...two tenths to go...unable to catch a breath in what I still recall as the hardest mile I have ever run in my whole life...knowing I will either just make it or (crap!!) just miss it. "Get you head up" I hear Ken booming from the finish line. I raise it just as I go under the clock...3:45:48...thank God for the 59 second rule - drop the seconds. I MADE IT!!

For as long as I can remember (and that is a long time), I have always run with my head down. I have tried countless times to correct this form deficit. I know it will help my speed (that's funny), put less stress on my joints, help my posture, prevent me from looking like a Gargoyle as I tire, and mostly, keep me from bumping into runners coming at me on dark mornings. But, running with my head down not only keeps me from taking a header on the trail, it has also helped me find many interesting objects along the way.

Money - It's fascinating how much money you can find. Once, I really tried to pile it on and see how much I could find on my daily runs. Now, recognizing that I have about 3 regular routes that I run on the road, it was amazing that one year I found $149. The bonanza was Saturday morning runs that I would traverse through the fast-food drive thru. I guess folks are so plastered at 1 AM that they don't care if they drop the change out the car window. Even found a ten dollar bill once! I usually donate the money I find to the Leukemia Society.

Once I found a handgun lying by the side of the road. Now, I've seen NCIS enough to know that I didn't want my prints on the gun, so I wrapped it (and the gun clip I also found close by) in newspaper and ran to the Police Station. I was a little disappointed that they didn't seem to have that same excitement that I had that this might solve the crime of the century. They also didn't compliment me on not disturbing the crime evidence with the newspaper. Oh well!

Found a Fire Truck Walkie-talkie in a ditch once. Ran it to the local Fire Station and found it humorous when the dispatcher took it, said "thanks...Hey Frank, missing something?"

Numerous golf balls, tennis balls, and baseballs just lying by the side of the road. I usually pick them up and try to bounce them while I'm running. If I can do it twice in a row, it's a good day. Mostly, I wonder (like the money I find) "how the heck did this get here?" when it's in the middle of nowhere.

When I'm out of town, it's always fun to come across mile markers painted on the road from previous road races. Some cosmic connection there.

Around my town, they take pride in putting the US flag on the light poles every chance they get. One year, I was running early in the morning and found, on the ground, one of the flags had blown off the pole during a storm the night before. The flagpole was too short to stick in the ground, so I just figured I'll run it the 3 miles or so to the Police Station (seems I'm there a lot). So, like a scene out of Gone With The Wind, I'm running down the road with this wet, heavy, full-sized US flag over my head, thinking, "this was a mistake". Next thing I know, folks are honking their horns, people are yelling "USA, USA, USA", thumbs up, hands waving. Made that flag seem a lot lighter and me, pretty proud.

Tools - I could supply a pretty good tool shed with all the hammers, screwdrivers, and what-nots I've found along the way. One time in Atlanta, I came across this huge wrench that I swear must've been used for anchoring interstate lightpoles. The damn thing must've weighed close to 10 pounds. Well, I carried it about a half mile until my arms cramped, dropped it in some bushes, went back later to pick it up and it sat in the trunk of my car, untouched, for the next two years. Why in the world did I think I needed that? Crazy!

At least 3-4 times a year, I find credit cards, wallets, licenses, etc. and always try to return it to the owner before sending it the appropriate agency. I like the response when the owner doesn't even know they lost something. Better than that, I like the joy some folks get, like a teenager's license I found at Gulf Shores. He lived about 200 miles from me, but I tracked him down, called him, and he acted like...well...a teenager whose driver's license had been found. He was VERY thankful. Great!

Early one Christmas morning, I was running and passed a Nativity Scene. During the night, a storm had blown through and knocked down all the life-sized figures. There was Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the 3 wise men and all the animals scattered here, there and everywhere. Like a kid with big toys, I put them all in their places. As I was leaving, I could swear I heard Jesus say "OK, Al just earned a point in The Big Book". Honestly, it was pretty cool.

Finally, I was running across the MIT Harvard Bridge in Boston a couple of years ago, and noticed the bridge was marked off "One Smoot, two Smoots..." and so on to the end of the bridge. Ok, had to check this out. Turns out that Oliver Smoot was an MIT freshman in 1962 and his fraternity declarded that the 5'7" Oliver was a unit of measurement. He had to lie down on the bridge and have his height marked along the whole span! The markers have endured the past 50 years!! The MIT Harvard bridge measures 364.4 Smoots! Gotta love it.

Above is the blue sky, the sun, rainbows, and countless stars. But sometimes looking down has it's visual benefits also. I'll see you on the roads - AL

"One child lost is too many...one child saved can change the world"

Avoiding Failure

"Failure is not fatal, but failure to change might be." - John Wooden

Looking at my March Madness bracket, and then, at the actual results, it has taught me a couple of things. One is to let your son pay the ten bucks to get you in the pool ("What pool? What Tournament? I don't know nothing about any ten bucks"), and the other is that if you play it safe, it's probably going to bite you in the rear. I could have picked St Peter's, Alabama St., Texas-San Antonio, and Wofford, and done just as well. But, I was TRYING to avoid failure and picked Ohio St and Duke. Obviously, this didn't translate very well into seeking success. Let's get away from basketball...please...and see how this applies to running.

For many years, I've been hobbling around with progressively achy ankles, but have pushed on doing marathons and ultras and trying to keep my mileage up. After a race or long run, I would walk around like Quasimodo on a bad day, but that was the expected post-race Al-walk. At least I could still race (well, run anyway). As the years went by, I tried various fixes, always hoping that this was the magic that would get me over the hump and allow me run at a status quo, meaning keeping my marathon times fairly stable and also allow me to run the trail ultras. Now, let's get one thing straight. I absolutely HATE blogs where the writer goes on and on about some personal injury he has, and I am not going down that road, but hang with me for just a while. As my training times plummeted and my races became non-existent, and as I tried to find the running groove again, I couldn't quite figure it out - what the heck was going on? Even on days when pain and soreness wasn't that bad, I was still as slow as cold mollasses. Did I lose the desire to push? Did I forget how to run? My daily training times had been a gradual slowdown, but now those times had fallen off the Continental Shelf!

Then, about 2 weeks before the Mercedes Marathon, around the first of February, for no good reason, except that I was sitting on my rump too much, I developed some high hamstring pain (it certainly wasn't from all the speed work!!). In the "Do-as-I-say, not-as-I-do" vein, I ran the Mercedes (my first marathon in 2 years, so I was rested), which did a real job on the hammy. Again, skirting all the non-interesting details, I've tried to play it smart since Mercedes in trying to return my old hobbling self. I've come back slow and it is much improved. When I run with friends, I drop back. When I run alone, I want to beat myself silly about running 11' miles, but that's my pace, like it or not.

This past week, while running by myself, and feeling some better, I realized the phase of running that I'm in now. For decades, I ran to seek success on the roads and trails. Seeking success was defined by race times and the effort given. Also, the feeling that I was "red-lining it" in races and giving it what I felt was an honest effort to push during training runs. When you seek success, you go right to the dragon and stare failure in the center of it's eyes. As my superman body began to respond to my kryptonite ankles, I now realize I have been running for years to avoid failure, not seeking success. Not only am I not staring at the dragon, I'm not even entering his lair. In my case, failure was not being able to run anymore. I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to even "jog" comfortably. If you get good at avoiding failure, it becomes it's own goal. It's a good skill to have - it reduces the gremlins of running - but it's not what powers racing success. It scared the living daylights out of me to think I may not be able to run some day, so, in addition to having to slow down due to my physical restrictions, I also sub-consciously ratcheted back to where my left-sided brain wouldn't allow me to "take risks" with my running future. I think in other venues, it's called limiting your losses.

Back, about 2 years ago, I made a deal with God to just allow me to run and I wouldn't complain about the pace. Well, doggone it, He has held me to that deal, and although I waiver a bit, I am thankful to just run. Finishing Mercedes more than 2 hours slower than my PR was surprisingly a huge thrill for me, because it meant long distance running was still part of me. Being able to run slowly on a non-technical trail is not the gut-wrenching climb next to a waterfall it once was, but it is where I find the most peace in my favorite form of running. I can still run to the sunrise, and you know what? The sun doesn't care about my pace.

Now, looking at it a little more clearly, I have crested a mountain that on one side of it has you pushing, taking risks, and knowing that stretching this rope may cause it to snap and hurtle you into failure. But, on the other side, you take the safer route so that what was once failure has a totally different meaning. So, maybe I have my definitions wrong...Sometimes avoiding failure IS seeking success and my success is just getting out there and running.

I may be way back there, but, thank goodness, I'll see you all on the roads - AL

"One child lost is too many...one child saved can change the world"

Who's on First?

" A heckuva lot better than being the shortest player in the minor leagues." -
Freddie Patek, Kansas City Royals 5'4" infielder, on how it feels to be the shortest player in the major leagues.

Sometimes when I write this blog, words just flow out of my fingers and when I finish, I look at the post and say "wow, where did that come from?". But, as Satchel Paige once said, "Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits". So, without a definite theme rattling around in my head, I think I'll just jump in the pool and see what happens.

Last week, at the Oak Mountain 50k, it was Africa-hot, and I have to hand it to the 89 runners that hung in there to the finish. We had about 14 DNF's, but in that heat, I would have expected a bushel load more. Working the dual aid station at miles 14.5 & 26.1, I had a great time being in the middle of it all. I am always amazed and rewarded by how grateful most runners seem to be towards the volunteers during the race. The thank-you's they throw around are so genuine and you both know it has become a team effort - sorta like a NASCAR team of the driver and the pit crew. To give you an idea of what can happen to the best of them in the heat, Vince Molesky came out of the woods in first place at 26.1 miles and looked strong with just 5.8 miles of mostly downhill to go to the finish. SEVENTEEN minutes later, Birmingham's own Owen Bradley emerged at the aid station. We told him how much he was behind. He grabbed some drink and off he went back to the woods seemingly for a 2nd place finish. Well, the Fat Lady hadn't quite burped up her song yet, because Owen caught a rapidly sinking Vince with a half mile to go and won in 5:01! That is incredible to make up that amount of time in less than 6 miles. Congrats Owen.

Speaking of volunteering, let me give you an example of how low my running life has fallen. Now that I know my Boston Marathon qualifying days are over, I decided to volunteer for this year's race. After all, all of the race volunteers get neat jackets FREE, and if there's one thing I definitely need, it's more gear. So I wrote the Volunteer Director an email, explained that I was from out-of-state, but had run the race 5 times and would now like to "give back" (like the jacket had nothing to do with it!). Yeah, c'mon, just fill out the online form and thanks for volunteering. I put the finish line as where I wanted to work, picturing myself putting a mylar blanket around Shalane Flannigan or Kara Goucher!!! Well, here's a kick in the pants - yesterday I got a letter from the BAA that said they had more volunteer applications than they had slots...thanks for your interest...try again next year...see ya!! Not only can I not qualify to run the race, I can't even qualify to be a frickin' volunteer!! Holy Crow. I used to be somebody. I was having flashbacks to some of my college rejection letters. Oh well, guess I can't be too sad - I'm still visiting my family in Boston, will get to run the morning of the race, then walk the half mile or so from my son's house to the 23 mile mark and yell at Ken to get his butt in gear, stop whining, and get to the finish line before the third wave catches him.

This week begins baseball season. Although it is something very special to me, here in the southeastern portion of the US, baseball season is just a filler between Spring Football and Fall Football. I don't outwardly argue that logic...it's bigger than all of us...but it makes me sad to see that, just like all other sports, baseball has been reduced to a pure business, much more than a game. We don't root for players anymore, we root for the shirts that the faceless players wear. But, as clear as yesterday, I remember a day in probably 1955 or 1956, that my father took me to my first baseball game at New York's Polo Grounds, home of his beloved Giants. As we walked through the concourse towards the entrance to our section, I was almost hyperventilating with excitement. When we emerged into the sunlight and could see the field below, I still remember vividly how incredibly green the grass was. And I remember the sharp contrast of the uniforms of the team the Giants were playing because they were lined with a brilliant red - the Cardinals? The Reds? The Phillies? Don't remember that. For a short period, every season renews that excitement and those memories of days way gone past. I don't love baseball like I did back then, but I sure do love to think about when I did. Play ball!

Talk about an athlete. While running this morning, I was listening to a podcast (yes, when I run alone, I'm plugged in...except on the trail) that reported that Lance Armstrong was seriously considering doing the Hawaii Ironman this October. Supposedly, he's swimming times that would place him in the top 10-12, obviously the biking leg wouldn't be a problem (really??), and he has Alberto Salazar coaching his running. He's told Alberto that if he can get his marathon time down to 2:30 without that swimming and biking stuff, he thinks he could do a 2:50 in Kona! You gotta love it. I do.

Ok folks, that's about it for jumping around this week. Not much substance, but thanks for sticking with me during my blogger's block. I intentionally didn't mention the current state of my basketball bracket, but I honestly believe a blind monkey throwing darts at a blank bracket would be doing better than me. Hope you all have a great week and I'll see you on the roads - AL



"One child lost is too many...one child saved can change the world"

A Day In The Park

"One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." - Andre Gide

A few years ago, due to nursing balky ankles, I reluctantly broke my streak of running our local Oak Mountain 50K Trail Run at 7 years, and to be sure I didn't get any late, crazy thoughts, I volunteered to work it. Despite twangs of pain at not actually running, I loved being in the middle of it all and being able to assist my fellow ultrarunners complete their goals, and I've wound up volunteering at the race for the past 4 years. You know, we as runners are excellent folks to be volunteering because we understand what the runners are thinking, or just acknowledging the fact that they might not be thinking too clearly at all, and because of that, we can make their run much more enjoyable and improving the chances of them reaching the finish line that much more attainable. When a runner comes staggering out of the woods at 25 miles and I ask, "what can I get you?" and he just stares blankly at me, I know I better take charge and tell Mr Fatigue what he needs...get some shade, drink some sugar, eat some carbs, pray to St Christopher, etc - and make sure he doesn't sit too long if he wants to finish - BEWARE THE CHAIR!! By having been on the other end of the "What do you need?" scenario, I know how invaluable a knowledgeable volunteer can be. You have to recognize which runners are well in control of their race and let them dictate EXACTLY what they want - no friendly recommendations needed or wanted from this runner. It's helping the middle to back-of-the-pack runner that makes volunteering so rewarding. They say a good referee should just about be invisible, and I guess that's how it should be for a race volunteer - the runner should only have to worry about running.

When we run a race (it doesn't matter what length), we have this mindset that everything just magically appears - registration, aid stations, drinks, course markings, police, finish line timers, etc, but you really need to volunteer to get a feel of all the "behind-the-scenes" activity that takes place. You'll be surprised how all those aid stations get stocked, how all the course markings find their way to the right place, or how all the trash magically disappears. It's hard work done well before the race begins and unfinished till long after the last finisher crosses the line.

I'm writing this post on Friday night and tomorrow is this year's edition of the Oak Mountain 50k. The prediction is for close to 80 degrees. Not a good thing. The runners will run and want to finish, sometimes at the expense of better judgment. Having been in many hot marathons and ultras, I know how the mind can play tricks and muck up a sound decision making process. However, because of this, I also know what signs to look for in a runner that's in trouble and will do all I can to be sure this runner does no harm to himself. My ultra role has changed, but through volunteering, I still have a strong connection to the ultra band of runners. If you want to volunteer for a race, just give the race director a call and I'm sure he'll snap you up (with a big smile).

OK, so in addition to the Oak Mountain 50k going on, March Madness has begun and I'm watching basketball for purely entertainment purposes only. My bracket, which two days ago seemed to be perfect when I set it up, now resembles something from a new movie called "The Anti-Bracket". It looks like some hillbilly took a shotgun to it and blasted holes in it. I'm now asking myself if I really understood that the object was to pick the WINNERS of the games, and not the losers! Guess I'll just sit back and hope one of these little schools can keep it interesting and knock off some of the fat cat schools along the way. I'm still not sure what game my UAB Blazers were playing the other night (they certainly didn't know either!!). I guess one and out is better than zero and out.

One last, sad note this week. The Birmingham running community has lost one of it's pillars from the formative days. Bill Gates was a good friend of mine back in the old days of the 70's. He was a stellar track runner in High School and at Livingston University, but to all of us that ran with him, Bill was crazy, amazingly funny, always laughing, but most of all, he was one of those folks that you could count on as a true, genuine friend. And man, what a runner. One weekend, he ran the Vulcan 10k in 33 minutes and came back the next day and ran the Vulcan Marathon in 2:36! He was the first person I knew to run 50 miles in a race - how could anyone go THAT far? Every year, Bill would volunteer at the top of Peavine Falls for the July 4th race. After you'd climb for close to 4 miles, Bill would be there laughing and handing out water, encouraging you to begin your 4 mile descent. On a personal note, I feel good knowing that tomorrow, I will be volunteering at exactly that same spot during the 50K. We'll miss you Bill.

Hope you all have a great weekend, and I'll see you on the roads - AL


"One child lost is too many...one child saved can change the world"

The Long Road Not Taken

"When you think far, think really far" - the quote on my Road ID that I wear on EVERY run


Everyone has fantasies. No, not that kind of fantasy. I mean the kind that comes across your mind every once in a while, and you say "I know it's impossible, but I'd like to try that". It is something that's on the outer fringes of reality. Climb Mt. Everest, swim the English Channel, travel the world, train to be an astronaut. You know, it's there,but it's not really. It's not some wild-hair crazy out-of-universe idea, just one that a lot of "ifs & buts" get in the way.

Back when I was piling on the mileage, one of my fantasies was to run across America. I had no idea how I would do it. I had a job and a family, but the fascination has always been there as long as I've been a runner. When I worked at Cooper Green Hospital back in the 70's, I had a big map of the United States over my desk. At the beginning of the year, I would put a push pin in Birmingham and another someplace else; Seattle, San Francisco, Maine, etc. Every week, I would add up my weekly mileage and move the pin the appropriate distance towards my goal. I would even check the weather reports for where I "was" to add some more pseudo reality to my journey. Once, I began a 3 year trek around the perimeter of the United States - not sure if I ever finished that one. Back then, I was doing 2500-3000 miles per year, so I could "go" pretty far.

Reading about prodigious endurance events has always intrigued me, and books about running across America twangs a special string. About 20-25 years ago, I bought a book titled "Meditations From The Breakdown Lane: Running Across America" by James Shapiro. With a few maps and some clothes stuffed into a backpack, he covered 3086 miles from Dillon Beach, California to New York City in 80 days. That's an average of 37 miles per day. Looking back on it now, with all the "look-at-me" long distance headline grabbers going on seemingly every week, it doesn't carry the HOLY COW punch it did a quarter of a century ago. But, this journey by Mr. Shapiro fit right into my fantasy. He did the whole trip virtually unassisted. There were two stretches out west where it was too far between points of civilization to go it alone, so a support vehicle aided him, but other than that, it was him and the wide open spaces. To me, the book was fascinating and during all my push-pin long distance runs, it served as a fantasy reference book in hopes that one day I could actually plan such a trip. That's part of a fantasy - it's right there on the edge of reality.

Then, few years ago, I was in Huntsville to run the Mt. Mist 50K Trail Run and ran into an old friend, David Horton. David is from Virginia and I first met him a few years back when he would come down for our annual Birmingham Track Club 50 Mile Run. Well, David is a humble ultra-runner extraordinaire and he has performed many long distance feats that place him with the very best in our sport. Along the way, David has lived my fantasy - TWICE! In 1991, he set out to accomplish a new record for the fastest traversing of the entire length of the Appalachian Trail. The old record was 60.5 days to cover the 2144 miles. David ran from Push-pin #1 (Springer Mountain in Georgia) to Push-pin #2 ( Mt Katahdin in Maine) in 52 days, 9 hours, taking a week off the old record! He wrote a book that described his challenge titled "A Quest for Adventure". In it, he describes how he ran over 40 miles per day over very rough terrain to reach his goal, despite having no running partner. My fantasy has nothing to do with speed, but I envy the "here-to-there".

I said David lived my fantasy twice and the Appalachian Trail run was only half of the story, and only half of the book mentioned above. The second half takes us to 1995, when David, obviously having completely forgotten about the pain of the AT adventure, entered the Trans America Footrace. Folks, this is a 2906 mile race from California to New York! They run 64 days in a row, each day consisting of a stage of a set distance, averaging 45 miles! No days off, no whining, no bands at every mile, no nothing except getting up every morning and running another ultramarathon. When it was all said and run, David finished in third place in 449 hours and 26 minutes...an average of 9:16/mile!

Fantasies, hopes, dreams. They're all out there and they're there for us to deal with individually. James Shapiro and David Horton happened to to have the same running fantasy I had. The difference is they crossed that chasm to reality. Do I feel envious? Of course I do. Do I feel they somehow took a little away from my fantasy? Not in the least. I salute them both, and thank them for writing about their journeys. When I read their books, I can run with them and my unreachable quest has become just a little bit more believable.

Wherever they take you, I'll see you on the roads - AL


"One child lost is too many...one child saved can change the world"

Outside Lies Magic

"Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go."
- César Chávez


One of the joys of running is that, unlike other hobbies or other physical activities, when you go out of town, you can just put on your running shoes and off you go. Whenever I travel, I always look forward to getting up early the following morning and going for a run to see what I can see and find what I can find. There's no schedule to follow, no pace to run, no watch to keep track of. All I've got to do is go forward and try to remember my way back to the hotel.

As most of you know, I love baseball, so I'll usually see how close the I'm staying to the local ball park. Doesn't matter if it's the major league or the minor league - I just find fascination running around baseball parks. If there's none available, I'll settle for football stadiums, arenas, or college campuses. The "Holy Grail" of the ballpark runs is to find an open gate so I can run inside and see the field. I'm like a kid - "see the field before I get caught". Domed stadiums are the worst - they're never open! I all my trips to see Adam (my grandson) and my family in Boston, I have never penetrated Fenway Park. BUT, the search for the Holy Grail of Holy Grails is far from over!

But most of my "finds" are totally unplanned once read a book titled "Outside Lies Magic" about the loads of sites and sounds most folks never see they're closed up in their cars speeding from place A to place B. The author (John Stilgoe) urges you to walk or cycle to discover a whole new world (or rediscover an old one). Well, Mr. Stilgoe is apparently not a runner, but through running I have "accidentally" run upon some sites and sounds that made me so glad that I am a runner.

Many years ago, I was in Seattle, and early one morning I went through an open gate to what I thought might be a park. There was no one there and after running for a few minutes, I realized I was at the site of the old World's Fair! Just me and these many venues, sculptures, and exhibits. And let's not forget the Space Needle...and me...and nobody else! How cool was that?

In Tennessee, I found myself at a Confederate cemetery. It's humbling to see a hundred tombstones with basically the same dates (birth and death).

In my home state of New Jersey, while I was visiting my sisters, I went out for just an innocent jog, and was suddenly thrust into a sea of memories. I found myself on a street that I had lived on when I was maybe 5 years old and had long forgotten. I had some vague recollections of the area, but running down the road hit me like a 2X4. I found my house, my best friend's house, and places we used to play. Of course, everything was smaller than I remembered it. It was like my own private episode of the Twilight Zone.

In Dallas, I was running by myself early one AM down some solitary road when I was passed by the entire 15 person 7-11 cycling team. Us old cyclists remember the 7-11 team as a pretty big deal in the mid 80's. This was America's Team at the Tour de France and all the big races. I had no idea they were in Dallas training (and they probably had no idea I was in Dallas either!).

In Alaska, I ran the Midnight Sun Marathon and then stayed there for another week. During that week, I would awaken every morning and run down the the beautiful trails (fortunately forgetting there might be bears down these beautiful trails). One morning, I was running down a single track trail next to a stream, and up ahead came two bald eagles flying directly towards me over the water. I just stopped in awe as they flew not more than 10 feet above my head. Just magnificent!

I don't like to run on the beach, but one foggy morning in Oregon, the tide was out and the shore was perfectly flat, hard packed, and 200 yards wide. That was a wonderful 10 miler.

In Victoria, British Columbia, I just happened upon a large stone monument that had etched on it "Transcontinental Highway Mile 0". Visions of running the 3000 miles to the Atlantic enticed me, but I had to get back to the hotel for breakfast.

Bermuda has it's paved-over railroad beds that run the length of the island, Rhode Island has it's 300 year old college campuses, and in New Orleans, the very early morning French Quarter is quite different from the one the average visitor has seen.

Yes, I've been around the block, but thank goodness, a lot of it has been in my running shoes, because truly, Outside Lies Magic. I'll see you on the roads - AL



"One child lost is too many...one child saved can change the world"